Optical Illusions and Elephants

Edinburgh, Scotland. It was a cold sail to the land of kilts and haggus, but we made it wthout a single case of hypothermia. As Edinburgh was the last port of call while saiing the Sorlandet, many of us spent a great deal of time on board rather in port. It was interesting to watch the transition through out the year. As we first stepped foot on land in the Azores, each persons goal was to get as far away from the ship as possible. We wanted to see the ports and learn of their history or culture but now we wanted to be with her, the ship and our home. 

I spent a lot of my time with metal bright (acid wash) and brasso, but that doesn´t mean that I didn´t go into port at all. Edinburgh is a grogeous city. The closes are crowded with wondow openings and hanging baskets. Each stone seems as if it were placed with the upmost care. Even the new city contained achetecture that is not even comparible to that of Quebec City. 

While the castle was beautiful, the real joy came from sipping coffee at the Elephant House where JK Rowling wrote her first Harry Potter books and Camera Obscura where my brain almost split open trying to make sense of the world around me.

A List of Gratitidue

The end is quickly approaching. With only one port left before the grand arrival in Kristiansand I wanted to post a list of gratitude. There are so many people who have helped me along this journey. They have allowed me to grow into the person I am now and have aided me in my discovery of the oceans and tall ships communities which I will forever strive to be a part of. Below are the names of those who have, in some way or another, provided assistance:

- My parents for raising me in a family that allowed growth and exploration. You created a passion for learning and exploring in a daughter that will never forget where home truly is.
- My extended family. To all the grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles who have been my biggest supporters from day one.
- Bev for being one of the kindest strangers I have ever met. I am so happy to now call you a friend.
- WVYC for following my journey and supporting me before I took off but also for growing my passion of sailing from when I was little.
- My neighbours for the kind donation that caused my jaw to drop. Thank you a thousand times over.
- All the friends and the kind strangers that helped me financially so that this journey and dream of mine could come true. How can I ever repay you for your kindness?
- Mika and her family for hosting me in Chiba, Japan. I was able to see Japan but also to live it through your willingness to show me all that your beautiful city has to offer.
- Jeff and Charo for providing me the comforts of family when my own parents couldn't travel to Cadiz and visit the Sorlandet. I love you as if you were my own parents.
- Jan and Scott for hosting me in the Dominican Republic. Your house provided all the comforts that any sailor might desire for a few days rest before venturing back into the crazy seas.
- The Maritime Crew for guiding me, being my mentors, and growing the passion that I have for sailing: Drew for teaching me how to use a marlin spike and how to make my first splices, whippings, and servings, but also for showing me that it is possible to have a career in the tall ships industry; Jason for all the laughs and for being my punching bag when all I needed was to let off some steam; the Captain for providing us a safe journey and enlisting in me a type of trust that I have never experienced before coming aboard; John for all the talks that opened my eyes to a new and different perspective on life; Erin for believing that I might just have what it takes to be a deck hand, and to all the other maritime crew that made this past year what it was.
- The teachers that were more than just teachers but parental figures and friends that I felt comfortable enough to talk to about anything; Jenn and Megan for being the ears that patiently listened to all my rambles; Bryn for the friendly competition in the board games that acted as an escape from the sometimes chaotic banjer life; Chyzyk for the laughs and the really bad jokes but also for the bear hugs that warmed my heart every time; Kim for teaching me that there is no right or wrong in our society but also that sometimes we just need to deal with it; and Rafael for his comforting words that caused tears to roll down my checks (they were tears of love).
- My friends on the ship, my floaties, for helping me grow into the confident and ambitious teenager that I am today and for putting up with me through thick and thin. You are and always will be my family.
- My friends back home who send me messages and emails and keep me up to date on the life that I will soon return to.
- You, the person who I may or may not have ever met, but continues to read my blog and follow my journey.Thank you for being the inspiration to keep writing. I cannot show my gratitude in words alone.

Thank you.

Seas of Orange

Amsterdam, Holland. Seas of orange crowd the streets as I make a feeble attempt to walk off the ferry. It's the craziest time of year for Holland citizens - King's Day. At every corner a musician is blaring their punk rock or smooth classical music and the chants from surrounding crowds echo through the canal tunnels as booze tipping over the rims of plastic glasses and beer cans stains the cuffs of my pants. The streets are lined with residents who have each taken up a square piece of property and are attempting to sell their belongings on what the king calls the "free market".

This sounds like a nightmare for some, but as an annual celebration in honour of the king, I take every moment in and breath steady. "It will be over tomorrow and for now there is no better option but to party", I whisper to my friends who are also wide eyed and bushy tailed. 

King's Day (also Queen's Day if the queen is in power) is the monarchy's holiday in the Netherlands (Holland). Every year on the day of coronation people take to the streets and adorn themselves in orange as a sign of admiration for the royal family. It is the only time of year that residents can sell their belongings without a permit and so they take the opportunity to clean out their houses - it's essentially a Salvation Army that stretches for miles and miles. It is said that rather than belonging to the monarchy, King's Day belongs to the people and as for what I have seen, I couldn't agree more.

It was a great opportunity to be able to participate in a national celebration and despite feeling as if my insides would tear away from every morsel of my body which attempts to contain them, I returned to Sorlandet with a feeling that can only be described by the warmth that glowed in the veins and arteries of my body and the strength that was contained in the grasp of my friends arms as we cheerfully walked home, linked together with the bonds of friendship and family. We survived King's Day - it was a blast.

From Modern to Traditional

Brest, France. The city of today. There was no story to be told from the crisp clean-shaved buildings that resided on the streets. The city was eradicated in World War II and rebuilt via the combination of German efficiency with American aid. To most, it was not the France they expected. It was city replicated from the midst of a picket-fence paper town. Every street was identical to the next. Only in certain alleyways was there any sign of culture or pride; people came and went, trains passed by on rumbling tracks, the buses kept to their planned schedule, and I was bored.

Having had enough of the late 20^th century town, I took a train to Quimper. Located two hours from Brest in the bottom of a valley, the city was crowded with broken closes (a walk way between buildings), canals, iron railings, and crooked rooftops. The gothic tower, instigated in 1240 and finished in the 1800s, rose to a bone chilling height so that the width of a football field was need for it to be seen properly.  I spent the day eating macaroons, baguettes with cheese and meat, and fifty cent crepes. The sun shone through the gaps of spring trees and blooming bushes as my friend and I hiked up the side of the valley cliff to watch the shades of orange, red, burgundy, crimson and yellow dance on ice particles and copper fields. The conclusion of a delighted day came calmly as I pressed flowers into books and watching country sides pass as the train slowly raddled along its ordinary path to the perfectly modern Brest; to the temporary dock of my temporary home. 

The Loss of a Brother - Rest In Peace

This blog that I have kept as I travel in my teenage years has, for the most part, been about the places I’ve visited and the adventures I have had. Rarely do I write of the people I have met or the personal struggles of adolescence, but last night I was notified of the passing of my crew mate, friend, brother; James.

In the evening he veered off the road while riding his motorcycle and hit multiple side street objects. James, a first year university student, was declared dead at the hospital later that night. It was surreal to be delivered the news at colours that gloomy morning. I let my jaw drop and for the few minutes that we stood there the only words that echoed in my head were persuasive voices telling me “it’s not possible” and “she must be lying”. I shakily walked away only to collapse against the wall of the galley house with a burning salt liquid running down my cheeks.

The following few days were, at times, a struggle. It’s hard to think that our lives can end within seconds. Each day could be the last. I’ve been told the same thing over and over again as I make friends, lose friends, move away, say hello, say goodbye. They always tell you “Carpe Deim”, to treat every moment as if it’s your last and that sometimes what you say to someone may just be the last thing they hear.

James,

Inspiration; they say that’s your middle name. Usually I’d play devil’s advocate, but this time I can’t. It’s true. You taught me to see the other way. I wasn’t the only one. You grasped the heart of every soul who walked in your presence.

I’ll never forget all the times that we lay down next to each other under the stars so that I could feel the warmth radiating from your spotted skin. We would talk for hours about how unjust this world is but how at the same time it brings with it all the wonders and joys of life. We talked of how dreadfully weird people are but we’re just the same, if not more so. Insanity was the basis of conversation and that made us sane in its consequence. I’ll never forget how you were there to listen when my mouth did nothing but run and how the words you spoke left an impact on my constantly moving train of thought.

You touched the hearts of everyone you met and you changed a little part of this world. There is something to be said of those who can leave doing what they love.

Your fellow floatie,

Sophia.

If you’re reading this blog, make sure you show the people you love that you appreciate them. It doesn’t need to be any great sign of admiration, bouquets or chocolate, just a hug will do. Know that while you may sit comfortable in the moment, time is a tricky thing. Within seconds the pocket watch might slip and the tock might no longer tick. I didn’t believe it was possible until I heard about James. 

Shining Bright - Food for Thought

Class Afloat is a microcosm of real society. Each person is drawn from a different background and has a different story to tell. We rarely change who we are, rather our lives and attitudes are amplified in a microscope that’s angled directly on the most minuscule parts that even in the dimmest of lights, continue to shine clearly. 

The Forces of Wind

27/03/14

Over the last 36 hours the Sᴓrlandet has faced hurricane force winds (65 knots); blown out a sail, shredded two other sails, flooded the m/o’s room, flooded the banjer, rendered the main deck unstable and unsafe, and blocked all access to the galley (kitchen) house. It’s been chaos! Even now, as I sit in the banjer writing this blog, I can feel the ship shake with every wave that slams against her hull and hear the water race across the deck while the freeing ports slam shut causing a boom to echo through the ship.

Yesterday I was woken a half hour early for watch and told to report immediately to the officer in the bridge. I was not to go onto the main deck (had to use water tight doors and work my way to the aft deck via the laundry room) and I was required to wear full foulies as well as my harness.

It was pitch black, all I could hear were the yells of the chief mate as he commanded us to brace around the main. The helm, like a wild beast, could not be controlled. It jumped from 5 to 10 to 20 degrees off our course. After we braced I stood in front of the charthouse clipped to the railing and looking down on the flooded white water main deck. The ship rocked back and forth reaching forty to fifty degree angles across the horizon. Its rails came below the water’s surface as rain pelted my face and tore through my foulie jacket only to reveal a red and irritated shoulder later on in the day. And the wind, steady at 65 knots (force 12 on the Beaufort scale), caused me to go into a state of temporary deafness. Forty minutes into watch (0400-0600 watch) a loud popping noise could be heard above the sound of the blasting wind and when I looked up I could see that nothing remained of the main upper top sail except a few shreds of canvas. Half of the professional crew arrived on deck at that time and we all set to work trying to bring the yard down. Hours later the fore main sail tore and a few of the head sails blew out their tacks.  

At the watch handover the chief mate and the captain had agreed that it was no longer safe to have any student crew on deck but that we also were not to be stood down in case of any immediate actions which might need to take place and so they barricaded my watch and the 0600-0800 watch in the crew mess.

The rest of the day followed as so: 2 more hours of stand-by, 7 more hours of watch (I took 5 extra hours of watch for my crew mates who felt too sea sick), cold breakfast, lunch, and dinner (galley house was closed off so we could only use what was in the dry stores and walk-in fridge), and a few exciting trips to the main deck where water flowed over the rails and broke its path only once it had reached my waist. There were no classes; just a lot of adrenaline.

Today, watch continues on like normal, classes are back in session, and the galley is still preparing cold meals. The wind has died down, the seas have calmed (but only slightly) and access to any of the decks is still forbidden unless on watch. I continue to take my friends watches and get on deck when I can. These storms that we have and are going to continue meeting up with as we cross the Atlantic are exactly what drives sailors to be sailors. There is no fresher air than the air one breathes while at sea on a crisp and cold Atlantic.

Helming in 50 - 60 knots. Wind died down by the time this photo was taken.

Waves never look as crazy in photos as they do in person. It was amazing watching the seas build. 

The Torn Upper Topsail. It made for great wallets, ditty bags, and book covers later on.

The Third Atlantic Crossing

30/03/14

It has been calm for the past few days. Life at sea is relaxed and mellow. There hasn’t been any excitement since the storm passed. I’ve spent a lot of time on deck lately. Our boatswain is really pushing us to get the maintenance jobs done before Norway. With hands scarred, blistered, and split as well as the grease stains, bruises and paint that remain on my limbs, it is no lie that regular sleep has become an abnormal concept. I don’t mind it though. As the days to France draw nearer the crew mentality becomes more and more gloomy. We’re starting to realise that our time on the Sᴓrlandet is coming to a close and as a result many of us are developing a great sense of pride towards our home, the Sᴓrlandet. It doesn’t matter that we put extra hours into acid washing or are up from 0300 – 2300 some days, because soon there won’t be long days and exhausting hours of work. Soon there won’t be the Sᴓrlandet, and so we spend every moment that we can with her. Although, I still think that one of the best times of the day is when I climb into my hammock at night and as soon as my head hits the pillow I’m out cold. I would continue writing but the officer has just called “idle hands to brace around the main and the fore masts”. It’s 2210.

04/04/14

A warm front has just passed and now I’m indulging in the comforts of high pressure systems with glorious altostratus, cirrostratus, and cirrus clouds. It’s a pleasant 16 degrees Celsius today. I’m wearing a t-shirt and my pajama pants. Being at sea makes it very difficult to actually dress in the appropriate manner for a normal society, but fortunately there is no normal society around. It takes a great amount of effort to pick up the courage and undress for a cold 2 minute shower (although, I often take about five minutes and by the fourth water temperature increases to just above luke warm). We haven’t seen a ship in nearly two weeks.  Dolphins have been friendly though. They often appear just under the bowsprit (most forward part of the ship) and dance around for a couple minutes. Today I saw about 16 come by within the hour. The water, I didn’t realise until watch, is exceptionally clear. Up to 4 metres I can see my sea friends. The boatswain has given me the job of creating a Chinese finger stopper and hopefully that will keep me busy over the next couple days.

10/03/14

An all crew meeting that was held today ended in a cloud of sorrow gloomily hanging over the Sᴓrlandet. We were told that this crew, our crew, would be the last of Class Afloat to ever sail the magnificent pearl of Norway. The contract between Kristiansand and CAF was soon coming to a close. Although I knew very little about my home when we were docked in Collingwood, over the past 9 months I’ve grown to love, respect, and take pride in her. I couldn’t imagine ever having sailed another ship. There were times when I dreaded the 15 square sails and the effort it took to brace them at 0200 but at the same time there were the glorious moments when climbing aloft I could look out over the barren seas and watch their steady rolls while imagining that I was the only one in existence or sitting on the yards doing maintenance jobs for the boatswain and bending on sails. These are all things that made the program what it was: amazing, adventurous, and exhilarating. Sure, the next crew will still be able to climb aloft on the Dutch barquentine and brace around their fore mast but the main and the mizzen are fore and aft sails. They don’t require as much attention or maintenance aloft. The ship itself doesn’t have the same history. It hasn’t been to war or sunk while still attached to its dock. IT hasn’t been deemed the world’s oldest still sailing tall ship. It isn’t the pride and glory of a nation for nearly a century. IT will be sad when we arrive in Amsterdam. There, they plan on removing all CAF materials from the ship and putting it in storage until September when the new crew casts of the bowlines and stern lines, setting sail for the most outrageous moments of their high school careers. Can I say that I too am as sad as the rest of my crewmates with the new learned knowledge? Yea, of course, but I am also extremely fortunate to have been able to sail the Sᴓrlandet and take her home to Norway. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll return as an AB or OS and once again be with the first ship to ever have captured my heart. For now, however, there is still a month left to acid wash, paint, varnish, and sail steadily with Sᴓrlandet.

11/04/14

Wow! It feels as if ice is circulating through my veins, my eyes unresponsive to the blunt demands I give requiring their use for lookout. My fingers are incapable of even forming around the rails and the helm. Despite having prepared for Arctic type seas with 4 layers minimum, I still see my breath freeze to the inside of my scarf making suffocation almost inevitable if I choose to keep it there. It is possible that I am exaggerating but I’m dead serious when I say that night watch today has had me thinking about two things only: a warm hammock and a working coffee machine (ours has been broken for nearly the entire sail). I think that sailing has made me a little bit of a coffee addict. I drink about two to four cups a day and when luck is on my side, the chief mate offers me a shot of his hand ground, hand pressed espresso. I have never tasted anything so rich and creamy smooth.

13/04/14

I have been going hard core with all the High Altitude sail training work lately. Many hours of what could have been sleep are spent in the bridge talking about chart work, safety measures, sail handling, compasses, and electronic equipment. I think my head might explode trying to memorize all 40 some signal flags, Morse code equivalents, phonetic alphabet and their meanings, not to mention collision regulations. However, it does pay off and today I got to drive the capst’n and drop anchor! We’ve arrived in Brest, France! Two hours before calling “land ho” the unfamiliar smell of burnt wood and fresh vegetation filled our noses. It’s beautiful here. From what I can see I think I’m going to really like France, but a part of me does wish that I was back at sea. Fortunately there’s a yacht club 10 minutes from our birth and so I was going to attempt to get on a yacht for a Wednesday or Thursday evening series (fingers crossed!). In one week exactly we’ll be departing and heading through the English Channel… eeks! It’s the busiest waters in the world! Wish us luck.

Updated

I apologize for the lack of updates over the past months. The ports we have visited are not very internet friendly and so I have had troubles with blog posts and photo uploads, but I am now up to date. If you would like to see more pictures feel free to click the link on the side bar that is titled "Photo Time" or click the same link that is below. Again, I apologize and I hope that you enjoy the latest blog posts and photos.

Best regards and I'll post more in France after the crossing,
Sophia

Photos

Home (minus the palm trees) and Peanut Butter Provisions

Hamilton, Bermuda. First impressions? I'm home again (minus the palm trees). Everything here is very North American. As a result, rather than put my efforts towards exploring the culture and indulging in local delights, I took to the stage and with a few of my fellow crew mates we performed "A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant, and A Prayer." It went well. People came out to watch us and the abuse help center were able to spread awareness along side our performance. Even the town prior came to watch and support.

In the evening we gathered a team large enough to play soccer against the Saltus Grammar School Boy's U19 team. Things didn't go so well for us. We weren't nearly as fit or skilled as they were but everyone still had a great time goofing. I was just happy to be able to dribble the ball and be back out on the field. We lost 4 to 9, but everyone still got to indulge in the pizza party afterwards. 

The final day took me to Horseshoe Bay. It was one of those sights that you always imagined you would see but never thought they actually existed. The towering coral rock formations which rose up like daggers in sand made for an easy and deserted climb. Looking out over the horizon and then down at the rainbow of blue sea had shivers crawl up my spine. It was a gorgeous natural sight. I spent hours exploring the landscape and watching the sun set, taking in all that I could of land before I go a month without sight of it. I'm not timid to be leaving this time. I'm actually quite excited. When at sea it is as if the whole world slows down a little. Everything is just as it should be. And, I have a jar of peanut butter stored in the back of my locker so this time I think I'm set. Next port of call is Brest, France. 

News Paper Article

The V-Day Performers 

The dock in Bermuda

Only a quarter of the rocky landscape

A Shrinking Crew

Drama. Two more kids left the program today. One because he had acquired mono and could not afford to be so far from any help while we crossed the Atlantic and another because of a foolish mistake. Class Afloat has a binding contract that if broken serves some major penalties. Prior to the program it is made clear that there is a zero tolerance policy for drinking. The consequence: expulsion. Of course, teenagers never really follow the rules and so all through the year people have become more and more careless. Last night, however, things got out of hand, and one of my friends came back to the ship intoxicated. She could barely walk and vomited profusely. They rushed her to the hospital and today she was given one hour to pack her bags and leave. It was sad to see her go because of a single mistake, but this woke everyone up. We are now paying more attention to the rules and are much more aware of where the boundaries lie. Our crew is down to a mere 33. This is barely enough to handle an Atlantic crossing and many more hours on deck are going to be expected of us. I think and I hope that I’m ready for it. 24 days of desolate seas, here I come!

Salt, Sun, and Crisp Sails

Provinciales, Turks and Caicos. A very brief port. We anchored outside Provo. The captain called it “the worst anchorage he had ever been at”. We were a mere 100 feet of the break of the barrier reef (third largest in the world), the swell was a few metres high, and the wind was blowing directly onto the reef. The chief mate didn’t sleep the entire anchorage. He continuously talked about how he would doze off and then abruptly wake up to a dreadful nightmare where the Sᴓrlandet had run aground.

As a result of all this, we departed early and headed out for Bermuda. Before that, however, we were still given some shore leave and in those dozen hours I spent all my time at the local sailing team’s clubhouse.

I was allowed to take their Laser Pico out. Words alone cannot describe the emotions I felt as I sailed away from the water break on the sandy beach and took control of the dinghy. The crisp sails, glowing in the midday sun, were propelling me forward as the hull followed along effortlessly breaking the crystal clear water. Below me I could see every shell, creature, and crevice of the coral reefs. I was in total control. Not a single thought went through my head other than where I was in that present moment. I forgot what dinghy sailing was like. I had forgotten what it is like to make every decision for myself and be in total control of all the jibes, tacks, and points of sail. As I raced a motor boat along a stretch of deeper darker waters, I could feel the wind combing my hair, the temperate water splashing my legs and wetting my face. I hiked off the side. I was moving… fast.

In those moments, out on the water, I realized that I will always sail. I will always do what makes me happy and being out on that Pico was one of the happiest moments I’ve ever experienced. I realized that regardless of how old I am or whether I’m in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan or Auckland, New Zealand; I will never stop sailing. It doesn't matter whether it’s racing on dinghy’s, cruising in 30 foot sloops, or living on 210 feet tall ships. There is nothing so amazing as the freedom of a barren horizon, the excitement of a giant swell, or the adrenaline rush from being alone in a situation where strenuous hiking is the only thing that keeps you inches from capsize. 

Service in the DR

Dominican Republic. Our second service project was scheduled for this port and so we joined a local foundation that worked in literacy, town improvement, and female rights. José, the man in charge, had arranged homestays for the three day service project and had talked to the community council about house repairs. We were going to be painting houses for the families who could not afford to do it themselves.

Unlike the Senegal service project, in DR I really felt as if I had accomplished something. It was much more satisfying to look back at the end of the day and see the smiles on the families’ faces and the joy that simple colours brought to the rest of the street inhabitants. My group of 6 managed to get around to a total of 5 houses.

On our second day, we were painting the café a bright green and pink. This time we came prepared. We had bottled water, toilet paper, our lunch, and music… lots of music. By the time I got around to the front side of the building, it seemed as if every child in town had come out to watch and support and play with us. I knew a little Spanish and did manage to communicate with a couple of the children. One girl sat down next to me and pointed at my headphones asking if she could listen. I put one plug in her ear and one in mine. I’ll never forget how wide her smile was when I played Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing. After that all the kids lined up wanting to listen to the noise that was coming out of my headphones.

When lunch came around the people across the street brought us a table and chairs so that we could eat. We all felt a little guilty with the amount of food that was presented to us by José. So we ate a little of sight from everyone else. After I had finished eating I went back onto the street and befriended a little boy, Carlos, who had made a game out of a tire and a stick. We spent a good twenty minutes trying to perfect my skills. I never did get as good as him, but I was able to at least get the tire rolling. It’s amazing the games people can create from almost nothing.

Leaving DR was one of the more difficult departures. It was sad to say goodbye to all the great memories and friendships. There are no more service projects scheduled for the remainder of Class Afloat, but a few of us are trying to arrange something for Bermuda. Next port of call: Turks and Caicos Islands.

The Painting Team

Painting the Cafe

Flora and Fauna Delights

Limon, Costa Rica. What an ecologically amazing country. I believe that Costa Rica has the largest collection of Flora and Fauna in all the world and it most definitely shows. There is rain forest and jungle everywhere. Sloths and monkeys roam the city streets, tidal flats are covered in purple eels, and the white water rapids are out of this world. 

The first day took me to the National park. I was on a hunt to find a sloth and take in all the beauty that my eyes could perceive. It was gorgeous! A sense of my relation to this world clouded over my brain and I realized how small and unknown I am in our ginormous world. I realized how far from a natural state society had come and I slowed down to take a minute and breathe in my surroundings because if the sloth didn't need to hurry then why did I? Of course, the silence didn't last long and I ran straight into a spider web that coated the entire upper half of my body.... Yuck! An hour later my friends and I were still wiping the remains of the web off of me. I eventually found the sloth that I was looking for and watched it as it slowly moved across the tree branch. Ironically, there were many sloths that could be found just outside the dock and so I learned that I should probably keep my eyes on the trees more often. The coolest sight, however, was the raccoons that would dance for food. In Vancouver I am always taught to be weary of raccoons but in Costa Rica they gently take food straight from a human’s hand. Cool, eh? 

The next day was white water rapids on Costa Rica's longest river. There hadn't been much rainfall in the past week and so I was only able to experience class four rapids but they too were extraordinary. Our guide had me laughing until I could paddle no more and every time "get down" was commanded I whipped my paddle out of the water and hit the hull hard. I spent five hours on the river admiring the views and taking in the surrounding ecology. If national geographic were to visit the location of these rapids, I am sure that a photo might make their front page. The worn bridges and textured rock cliffs took my breath away. 

On the final day in Limon, I toured to Playa Bonita and explored the tidal flats. I observed that the waves came in patterns and every fifteen minutes the entire area would be flooded with water. To my dismay, a rogue wave hit and I was sent flying by the 12 feet of solid water. When I got back on foot again some fifty electric purple eels surrounded me. My heart began to beat a mile a minute and my head spun from one place to another trying to find an escape route. I was terrified of either being washed out to sea or dying of electric shock via eel. I think I may have made a mountain out of a mole hill when I look back on what happened. Eventually I came to terms with my current state and realized that this is AWESOME! 

The Epitome of Paradise

It is literally Paradise. We sailed into Panama's San Blas Islands and anchored overnight. It was a surprise port that, despite having been planned for weeks, no students knew about. I was in Biology 12 class when the Sorlandet shook vigorously at the friction of the anchor dropping and running against the hull. It was a type of excitement that couldn't be explained in words alone. As soon as we knew what was happening a roar of everyone's cheers ran across the banjer and my entire class jumped out of their seats to run at our teacher and embrace him in a hug of pure joy. For that day and a half that we were about to spend in Panama, we were leaving behind the viscous seas and dreadfully tough classes. It was the perfect vacation for everyone!

San Blas is the epitome of everyone's bream paradise. The island we occupied is a mere four hundred meters in perimeter and coated in palm trees. A single family of the Kuna people, indigenous to San Blas, took residence on Turtle Island, as ii is called. They wore the most vibrant clothes that I had ever laid eyes on and beyond friendly. From head to toe, bracelets, weaving's and died cloth covered their body. Some Spanish was spoken but it was in a pigeon dialect. I wish that I could have communicated with them in more than the basic sentences that I knew. 

All day was spent on the beach. The family had set up a volley ball net for our use and we played an extremely competitive game of students versus maritime crew. Ironically, it ended up being a game of one gender versus the other, and we, the girls lost badly. However, that is not to say that boys are better than girls (they had the height advantage). The waters which surround the island brought sights to my eyes that were on the verge of unbelievable. Speckled in various shades of blue from deep turquoise to crystal clear indigo, the sea had an abundance of marine life. I swam among the barracudas, stingrays, sea stars, reef fish, and sharks. 

It was an overall amazing day that ended with me taking a nap in the hammock which lies between two breezy palm trees. Only downside is that no paradise is perfect and a week later I am still suffering the burns that the sun was so kind to give me. Lesson learned: always wear and reapply sunscreen. 

Rolling in the Mud

Cartagena, Columbia. The city itself is wonderful and beautiful beyond comparison. It’s amazing to think of how far Columbia has come over the last decade. Everyone I met was kind and helpful. Even with a limited Spanish vocabulary I was still able to get around. The best moment, however, came from a daytrip to an aboriginal town where I learned how to get dirty.

When I first heard of having mud baths I thought bathtubs and maybe a massage, but nope. It was a pit. We drove for hours into a little town beside Cartagena where the guide who accompanied our group told us that we would be jumping into a mud volcano. Not so crazy, huh? Wrong, it was literally a pit that rose 50 feet above the ground and at the top, in a 10’ by 10’ whole, twenty people were bathing. At first I was slightly appalled by the idea of being so close to complete strangers and in such a dirty environment but I wasn't going to let a little phobia get in my way and I hesitantly walked down the slimy ladder into the weightlessness of mud. Yuck! All around me I could feel people arms and legs, the little particles of hardened clay rubbed against my legs and added friction to the movement of my fingers. Like Styrofoam, I could feel the walls around me breaking apart and contributing to all else that made the mud bath a slightly piggish setting. Although, in all honesty, I absolutely loved it! Because it was so high there was never any chance of touching the bottom and everyone floated. With one wrong move my feet would rise to the top and all of a sudden I would face first in the mud struggling to try to recover or flip on my back. All of us had a blast soothing ourselves, bathing, and trying to dunk one another. When the time came to be escorted out we ran for the lagoon and put a great amount of effort into to cleaning ourselves off. I had mud in places that I never thought mud could get to. Even a week later I am still finding it in my ears! The Columbia mud baths was a wonderful experience that I will never forget and although it may not have been as exciting as I first thought, it was definitely better than I could have ever expected. 

Willemstad, Curacao

As dutch as dutch gets on this continent. Sailing into Curacao was extraordinary. I couldn't believe my eyes as we ventured past the Unesco World Heritage Site. I definetly left behind some amazing people and brought with me some amazing friendships in this port. On the first night out it was old town that became our territory. From the cobblestone alley ways and neon building as well as wonderful food, an imagine of Curacao will forever be engraved in the back of my mind.

While looking for something to do on the full day of shore leave, I decided to venture to the ostrich farm and there endulged in ostrich burgers. It felt slightly inhumane but over the first few bites the tingling sensation and guilt that I felt while watching my foods brothers and sisters run around, vanished. The food was so delicious. Afterwards a man by the name of Carlos, gave us a ride down the street and dropped us off at a deserted lagoon where one dutch family who was running a hotel buisness back in Willemstad was kite surfing. They must have been some of the friendliest people I have met on my travels. They talked to us for what seemed like no time at all but lasted over an hour. I fell in love with their little daughter who couldn't help but dance for me. By the way, I do not suggest ever trying to cram five people into car made for three. It becaomes very sweaty and uncomfortable quite quickly.

Unfortunately I had to say good bye to those that I had met and venture off to the local aquarium where Vanessa, a Quebec scientist who was studying their masters in coral and coral reproduction, showed me around the laboratory. Its amazing the work that they are doing to help rehabilitate coral. Did you know that Curacao has the second best reef in all of the Caribbean and in all honest I do not protest. It truely is amazing. My heart leaps a mile a minute at the sights of what lives below the surf. Fish, snails, seahorses and hundresd of corals, leave the mind in a place different from this earth. Extreme exageration? Maybe, but it truely was the most exited I have ever been while swimming. If I ever get the chance I will most deffinetly return to the ABC islands. There is so much apart from ostriches, corals, fish, trees, jungles, and friendships, that I have yet to explore.

Next stop, Columbia! My fifth continent on this journey.

What are calm seas?

 Being back out on the open water has made me think about when the last time was that our crew had seen calm seas. That was back in Canada! With one bruised back that make me feel like I'm sleeping on a tennis ball and two toes that can barely manouver, I've realized how adapted the crew, my self included, is to these crazy waves. From Barbados to Curacao was one of the worst voyages we had made to date. Waves that came far above my head would crash againt the hull of our ship causing everything and everyone in the banjer to wake up or stir about. There was no pattern to these waves and on the occasion, I found myself slamming in to my best friend who sleeps in the hammock parallel to mine. Fortunately, it wasn't all hard work and minimal nights. Our bosun brought about the shanties! We sang and hollard like crazy. Voices, I swear, could be heard from miles away. Soon enough, the Sorlandet had docked in Curacao and all those hard times flew away in the forty to fifty knot winds we encountered. What stuck with us was the bonding moments are new crew had and the chants that still ring in my ears. This semester I am exstatic to be sailing once more!

Officially an Island Hopper

Bridgetown, Barbados. Not at all what I expected. First impressions: green and lush, but also poor if one wonders to the wrong side of town. The first night out this is exactly what I had done and quite quickly the landscape changed from high treetops and brightly painted buildings to dirt roads and worn down cold brick structures. I most definitely did not feel welcomed. One man, however, changed my entire perspective of the island when he offered a couple of us a ride to the jungles and caves located in the heart of the island.  Snails as long as my forearm and as wide as a fist blocked the slightly whacked out paths that we attempted to follow. Monkeys constantly mocked our inability to move fast over the jungle floor. Colossal rock cliffs hung over us as we tramped through and provided great shelter from the frequent squalls which came our way. It ended up being an adventure like no other. With only a few cuts and bruises along the way, we finally made it out safe and sound. The friendly locals then drove us back into town and we wondered the streets of Bridgetown, stopping for a quick bite to eat (flying fish and creamy salsa). The days that followed took us to beaches and ship wreck, cliffs and food shacks. I loved Barbados and especially the sweet dialect. However, Curacao sounds like it to will be a blast and I cannot wait to set sail once more - minus the brasso (brass cleaner).

A Short Vacation

Vancouver, Canada. As the first semester with Class Afloat wrapped up us students prepared to head home and spend the holiday breaks with our families, but it wasn't as calm and relaxed as one might think. When my flight landed in Vancouver I could feel my heart beating its way out and the pulse in my hand became unimaginably uncontrollable jumping a mile a minute. A smile stretched across my face from ear-to-ear and it was like ants had managed to find my pants. I couldn't quite believe that, down the hall from where I currently sat, my parents and sister were waiting in anticipation to see me again. "Has she changed at all since we left her five months ago?" Will I recognize my own daughter?" What will she think of us?" "Did she pack warm enough clothes?" These were all questions that raced through the minds of each of my family members. Truth be told, I had changed. It was a culture shock to be back in a country that I had grown up in but at first glance was unrecognizable to me now. The consumerism that reflected like a joker wishing to taunt me brought tears to my eyes. The big name brands were overwhelming and to be frank I couldn't stand being alone in a crowd of hundreds. 

For someone who many had said developed emotionally and physically into a more mature being, I sure felt childish. Quickly, however, life returned to how it was when I left. Some things stuck with me such as my continuous frustration with the consumerist society, and my ability to at times play "the devils advocate" as well as the motivation to take pride in everything I do, but others changed. Within a day my bedroom floor went from bare to "it looks like a bomb hit", said Mom. Soon, Class Afloat became a dream. As if none of it had happened and I had imagined every morsel of my trip.

Although, no person I reconnected with was going to allow me to forget the trip of a life time. It was wonderful to be able to share my journey with what seemed like the world. Each story I told had it's own twist on things that was different from the last story I told and each word that ran through my mind before I spoke aloud brought with it a beam of sunshine. I loved being able to share and at times I even loved being in the lime light. 

It was lovely to see friends and family again, except, I couldn't help but miss my floatie family. Despite being back in the house that I left 150 days ago, it wasn't exactly home. To me, home is the Sorlandet, at least for the next few months. The Sorlandet is where I now live and I know it's not permanent, but being back in Vancouver has made me appreciate it even more than I did when I left. It is sad to say good bye once more, but I know I'll be back soon and I know that while I'm typing this, there is a plane preparing to take off and I will be on that plane returning home again. Thank you to everyone that made my stay in Vancouver a hectic, lovable and enjoyable one. I cannot describe in words alone how much I appreciate everyone and everything that creates a life worth living, tenfold. Thank you! I will return soon! Then, Vancouver will be my home once more!

Senegal

Direct Journal Excerpt:

11/23/13
YMCA and Syto! I’m in Dakar, Senegal. First impressions is that it is poor and dirty. With every step there is a waft of some unpleasant smell. People are constantly hassling me for money and most buildings are rundown. Some are even collapsing in on themselves. I met my Syto (Student Youth Travel Organization) student today. I’ll be staying with her for the next two nights. Sasha is amazing. She volunteers with the YMCA’s Yarts department teaching dance. Today they had a showcase because people from North Carolina’s YMCA had come on an exchange. The dancing was fabulous, I could sometimes understand the singing and best of all is that they invited me into their family and asked so politely for a song from Canada. Further into the night giant circles were formed and dance offs began. I felt so included in the culture. Late night I went to my homestay’s house located in a rundown dirty part of town. However we were only 100 metres from the ocean break. Dinner was served in a dish made to feed everyone (they didn’t have any individual plates).

11/25/13

At this moment I can hear drums playing on the street. Their vibrations echo through my head and shake the bedroom walls. I love Senegal! Sasha took me to the park today and afterwards we talked for hours on end about everything from school to dreams. It’s quite sad to think that Sasha is going through university but at the best she might only get a job working in security or accounting because job opportunities are limited. A rooster and goats on the roof woke me up this morning.

11/26/13

I am writing so much about Senegal and I have so much more to write. I leave my homestay today and it’s obvious that there’s a sort of gloomy tone around the house. It’s only been two days but I already feel like I’ve known my sister for a month. I really hate goodbyes. This morning when I woke up to the rooster again I could hear children playing soccer outside. It’s a really lively neighbourhood. Breakfast was a collection of tasty goods from the baker down the street.     

We went to the zoo in the afternoon. Sasha was really excited to show me the tigers but I couldn’t help except feel sorrow for the small cages they were contained to and the skinny bodies. The cages were no larger than an average sized dining room.

11/28/13

Our first service project in Senegal took place today. I think it went well. It was just night being able to meet the children and communicate with the staff at Empire des Enfants. We played with the kids, worked in the kitchen, and asked a multitude of questions. Empire des Enfants was designed to take street kids off the street and reconnect them with their families. Many of these kids come from Darrahs which are schools which supposedly teach the Coran but these schools are corrupt. Instead, they take students and force them to beg for money. If they don’t collect enough then they are beaten and must go without food. It’s awful what happens, but Empire des Enfants will not take these kids off the streets themselves. Rather kids must come themselves. In my opinion it’s a great organisation.

We also had lunch with the students which was cool. The eldest boy would take his bare hands and break the chicken apart so that it could be dispersed evenly to everyone. This really is the country of sharing and hospitality. Cool Fact: When eating on the floor I had to kneel because crossed legs meant that my parents no longer owned me and it was a sign of disrespect at my age.

11/29/13

It’s 12:30 in the morning and I can’t fall asleep. Life in Senegal is sweet. I visited the Fann Hospital’s infectious disease ward and helped in the garden. We watered, planted, and cleaned out lemon grass. My hands still smell sweet.

11/03/13

I hate to leave Senegal, but I know that I’m leaving to head towards home and Christmas. I have left with so much more knowledge and some great connections. Thank you to Sasha and her family for hosting me. I will never forget the amazing time’s that I have had. I really do love Senegal and especially the Senegalese.

Europe's Hawaii

Canary Islands, Spain. Change of plans, instead of Tenerife the Sᴓrlandet stopped in Las Palmas. We had to fix our air conditioning and as a result extra time was allotted to exploring the shores of what some consider Europe’s Hawaii. Let me start off by saying that in all honesty this port, through my eyes, was not the most enjoyable or memorable.

First night was a blast. Being able to get off the ship and grab real fresh fruit was marvellous. Bananas, apples, and oranges melted in my mouth. They were the velvety chocolate from one’s favourite chocolatier.

Second day provisions came “first thing” which was noon and so only the evening was given for shore leave. I travelled by bus to old town and there Romane, a close friend on the ship, guided us through the cracked alleyways and tile dominated neighbourhoods to Christopher Columbus’ house. Not bad for a night out, huh?

Third day was given up to a long hike along a ravine in central Gran Canaria. I loved it. The fresh air was great (not like we don’t get any on a ship though, but it is different), the view was amazing, and I only ended up with a few needles in my hand from a cactus. Best of all though was the guide we had. He made the group laugh harder than anyone I’ve ever met who isn’t a professional comedian. Did you know that there are no natural rivers in the Canary Islands? The ravine was the only one in Gran Canaria, possibly the Canary Islands, that wasn’t dried up.

Fourth day I went surfing in the morning. I have a new earned respect for all surfers. The sport is challenging. It was a great feeling, however, when I finally caught a wave and stood tall (low stance) on my board. Much salt water was swallowed though. As a result I got a terrible stomach bug and could not even make it back to the ship. We needed to call a taxi driver. Half way home I crawled out of the car and puked my guts out.

No food was consumed for three days following my taxi incident. I became dehydrated and had really low blood sugar. My stomach cramped, my head spun, the whole world, it seemed, was going to collapse in on itself. All I wanted was to leave the program and to be back home with my family. 

The Best Night Watch of My Life

At 0145 I was woken up for night watch. Usually this is the worst part of living on a boat because I know that I have to get up, get dressed, put on a harness; brave the elements for two hours soaking my feet and the rest of my body only to fall back asleep for two hours. Once I’m up though it’s never as bad as I predict and if I can stay awake then I usually end up enjoying myself. However, this night was better than the rest.

0155 – Watch hand over.

0200 – Start watch on standby and am quickly removed to help set sail.

0240 – Sail is set, bracing complete, main deck closed off because it is not stable enough.

Having the main deck closed is a huge thing for us students because it means that the ship is rocking rather vigorously and the waves that crash over are too powerful that they could potentially take our feet out right out from under us. Safety rounds are discontinued.

At this point the excitement fills my body; a new rush of adrenaline. I’m slightly terrified about going overboard but I try not to think too much.

0300 – Look out.

I’m placed on lookout but I can’t stand because there isn’t enough to hold onto to. So, my watch mate and I sit outside the navigation house. With every rock of the ship I’m elevated into the air and left hanging from the hand rails. As the ship rocks to port I slam back down against the deck. It’s painful and irritating my tailbone but I don’t care because exhilaration is rushing through my veins.

Wave after wave hits me full on and the foulies that are meant to protect from the element are a mere layer of tissue in comparison. I become soaked to the bone. Bioluminescent coats my body and I glow in the darkness of the aft deck. My fingers drawing images with the production of light, it is an unfamiliar and far too likeable situation.

0400 – Watch change.

Watch is over and we’re rushed back down to the safety of the banjer. The officer does not wish to keep us on deck for any longer than necessary. I can’t fall asleep though because my head continuously replays the last two hours. It’s wonderful. I don’t think I can ever forget that one night watch.

0415 – I fall sound asleep.

Seeing Morocco

Is it weird to say that a single port has changed the way I look at life? If not, then I will most definitely say this about Morocco. Never have I experienced a world so different from my own, so far from any reality that I grew up in.

The houses were a construction project that rarely got finished, children begged at every corner you passed by, women covered themselves head to toe, air conditioning was unheard of, jobs were back-breaking and the hours long.

I found it interesting talking with the locals because while I thought of these circumstances as some sort of issue, they saw it as life. They knew no different and were, for the most part, content in how they lived their lives.

After a while it began to make sense to me. I realised that it was all based on perspective and I am fortunate now to have another point of view.

One boy who is my age that I met at a pottery co-op had been working from the time he was five. That astonished me for some reason. I couldn’t imagine how different our lives were. At the age of five I was running around playing hide-and-go-seek with my friends. Again though, it was ordinary for him and he didn’t mind because he made money. Very little but he stay made money.

It’s interesting to consider how ill-advised I was prior to Morocco. I had an understanding of what I was walking into but I never thought about how I would be walking out after experiencing and not just reading or viewing.

I loved North Africa. It changed the way my eyes are functioned to seeing my surroundings. I saw things that will change my life. Even on a single bus ride disease and poverty were present. The worst for me was seeing one man who's leg had only flesh left there was no skin and sowly it had begun to decay. The flys swarmed it. I couldn't do anything except imagine the agony that he must have been in. Worst of all was the fact that he was not the only one. 

Everyone tells me that Morocco is nothing compared to Senegal and so I cannot wait until adventures in West Africa. I can only wonder how my perspective might change once more. It will be interesting.

Life on a Ship

If you think life at home is hard, try living on a ship:

0340 – wake up for watch

0400 – watch handover (on-coming)

0555 – watch handover (off-going)

0600 – get dressed for the day, make my bunk, stow my bunk, brush teeth, and take care of personal needs

0620 – galley is woken up

0645 – galley starts preparing breakfast

0720 – breakfast is served

0755 – muster on deck

0800 – colours (flags are risen), daily announcements from all the departments on the ship

0810 – cleaning stations (heads, showers, banjer, deck, etc.)

0900-2000 – 4 hours of classes, 1 hour of sail training, 2 hours of deck work, approximately 1hour of idle hands (if you’re not in class then you’re on deck helping)

1130 – lunch is served

1830 – dinner is served

2000-2200 – homework (usually one to two hours’ worth), club meetings, social time.

2205 – lights out.

2210-0100 – study area is open for students to do more homework as needed.

I’m awake from 3:40am until 10:20 pm every day. In a single day I will usually have about 2-3 hours of homework and 3 hours of deck work (a lot being cleaning). Some idle time will be spent aloft taking in sail and setting sail and more cleaning. Lunch and dinner are served for an hour, but watch often overlaps and a seating’s only half an hour. I will often nap for an hour. Tea has become a best friend on the ship. Any other time that isn’t spent in class, on physicals (helm, standby, look out, safety), or sleeping is then given to socialising, playing board games, writing blogs, club meetings, or just hanging out with friends in the banjer. It’s a tiring lifestyle but I love it and I couldn’t be reward in any better way: travel. 

A Family Port

Cadiz, Spain. This was the first port that I really started to relax. Coming alongside the yards were dressed (people went into the rigging and dispersed themselves evenly), my friends were smiling and cheering, from a distance I could hear from a distance the parents loud roars of eagerness to see their children. Fog horns blew, tears rolled down cheeks, and I couldn’t help but feel slightly gloomy. Mom and Dad were unable to make it because of financial reasons. I knew this but similar to the other seven orphans, as we called our parentless selves, I was secretly hoping that they might surprise me. It never happened and I was disappointed once again for even putting myself in suspense. However, the disappointment didn’t last long.

Four of my girlfriends and I headed out to a flamenco show with our biology/chemistry teacher. We made sure to stop for the comforts of home (classic candies) and dressed up the fanciest I have ever been since stepping foot on the Sᴓrlandet.

My heart skipped a beat at every stomp of the dancer’s shoes and every flail of the arms. From fear to pure pleasure the dancing had my emotions on a roller coaster. Exaggerating much? Maybe, but it was unlike anything I had seen back home.

The next day my cousins, who live just outside of town, came to visit. I was able to show off my glorious home and we talked for hours and hours about everything under the sun. It was nice to have family to visit with. Also, they gave an opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep. I thank them many times over for that.

Choosing to stay in Cadiz, Jeff and Charo and Jake came along on the Class Afloat scheduled port program to Sevilla. A gorgeous town, Sevilla brought tears to my eyes and for the second time this port I cried. According to Jake, my little cousin, the Cathedral situated downtown is the third largest in the world and that’s not hard to believe. It was magnificent. If I had the time I would have spent hours there. All I could think about while sitting in front of the choir was how much my Nana would have loved it. We all have these moments where emotion takes the better of us and burning sensation from behind the eyes causes our waterworks to be turned on, but not for sorrow, instead for beauty. Sevilla became mine.

The classical also occurred on the third night. Pubs were jam packed. Like a can of sardines each person crammed in front of a television ready to watch Madrid vs. Barcelona. Despite having rarely followed European soccer in the past, after the classical I think a new tradition is in the making. It was a great experience being a part of such a culturally appetizing event.

On a final note, Spanish food is extraordinary, hospitality is great, and the Mediterranean is very cold in this time of year. I love Spain.

Halloween

How can anyone miss out on such a spectacular occasion? Even aboard a tall ship Halloween is still recognized as a time to dress up, dance, eat many sweets, and of course trick-or-treat. I was in the galley (kitchen) for a fair amount of the day leading up to October 1st. Caz, the cook on board, was busy creating homemade sweets, and to contribute I created a classic recipe given to me by my family on the other side of the world (New Zealand), Hokey-Pokey (sponge toffee).

Trick-or-treating was fantastic. We searched every nook and cranny of the Sorlandet looking for jack-o-lanterns which indicated sweets. The carved pumpkins could be found in aft cabins, chain lockers, galley doors, portholes, hatches, etc. It was a lot of fun, and a great relief from all the hard-work and extra time some of us were putting in on deck. I was once again a little child with the joys of a gift-giving holiday echoing in my eyes. Halloween was fantastic and could never have come sooner.

I took the role of a 90's librarian's assistant. Other costumes included: ghosts, pumpkins, maritime crew, Cleopatra, breaking news, flamenco dancers, and Tarzan.

Midterms... Yuck!

Exams are horrible on a boat! Despite overcoming the fear of major heights, being alone in a vast ocean, fifty-knot winds, and occasional home-sickness, it was the exams that I found most challenging. To really understand one must be a student, but just imagine a sewage tank erupting in your basement. The smell would cause every morsel of you to want nothing more than an abandon ship. Six hours in the banjer at a time leaves the head amiss and seasickness becomes inevitable. Exams take three hours to write. In that time alone I fill eight pages worth of writing for political science, twenty five point chemistry questions, or essays and multiple choice in English. It could be more but how can a teacher expect their students to perfect and not be scrambled for time when the funnels become a main priority. I'm not sure how to do well, I  just my best effort in and can only hope for the best when report cards are sent home. Fingers crossed, though.

The Land of Pastries

Lisbon, Portugal. I ate my way through Lisbon; it was a feast of pastries. From natas to chocolate mice and hazelnut pie, they had it all. Highlights would have to include the trip to Sintra, dry dock, and my favourite: soccer against a Portuguese varsity team.

An hour and a half on public transit so that I could reach Sintra was quite worth it. We had originally gone in a group of eight; however, some of us split off and visited Quinta da Regaleira. It was the summer residence of the Carvalho Monteiro family built in the neo-manueline style. I wish that I could talk a lot about the beauty of Regaleira’s architecture and gardens, but it wasn’t that which I paid most attention to. Instead, my three hours were spent exploring underground tunnels that connected the palace and the chapel, as well as many infinity wells which spiraled from top to bottom. Large crevasses allowed me to hide from my fellow class mates and a lack of lighting caused my heart to beat a million minutes a second as I attempted to swallow my great fear of the dark.  Bethany must have had bruises all up her arm because I tended to jump and grasp on for dear life every time something went bang.

Dry dock, the aftermath of a fishing line being jammed in Sᴓrlandet’s propeller, was an adventure of its own. How many people can say that they have seen their house from top to bottom, foundation and all? Walking down under the vessel gave a new perspective on how huge, or in some eyes how small, home really is. Furthermore, it was quite abnormal being completely still. To be honest, I found it difficult falling asleep and having nothing to rock me gently (sometimes abruptly) into my dreams. The workers were friendly though, and only once did a patrol officer monitoring the gate give some students a scare when he left for safety rounds and they only barely made curfew. Dry dock, in my opinion, was a great opportunity.

For a port program CAF organised a cultural exchange with the local school. Select students took us on a guided tour of Lisbon which included the world’s finest natas (recipe almost bought for 3 million euros), a maritime museum (very interesting because tall ships have now become a part of my history as well), and a visit to the extravagant cathedral. Afterwards we travelled back to their school and had a game of soccer with their varsity team. I had forgotten how much I loved the sport. Not once did I take the chance of subbing out because I knew that this may be close to the last time I play in ten months. Despite my team coming dead last, tears never swelled. It was all just a lot of fun and nobody had a frown on their face. I wish I could have stayed longer but I’m sure their team needed to continue on with practice. I’ll never forget that game.

Lisbon as a whole passed by far too quickly. I know I must say this often but I truly believe that it is a port for everyone. If ever you are in Europe make sure to stop in the land of pastries. I promise that you won’t regret it.